Being middle-aged is like being stuck in a state of limbo.

I’m in the middle between what was and what is yet to come. 

I’m neither here nor there.

I don’t know where I’ve been nor where I’m going.

I’m too young to start all over, yet I’m too young to stop doing it.

I’m standing at a threshold about ready to cross to the other side.

Like on a carousel, the brass ring’s in site, but I can’t quite reach it.

I’m at the top of the hill with my sled, waiting to slide down into oblivion.

I’m both a relic and a foreigner.

I am in this world but not of this world...

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